The Princess Swan
by SpookedRabbits
Summary: Prince Phillip arrives at Aurora's doorstep, near dead and with a message - a sorcerer has usurped King John and taken the throne for himself, with Queen Roberta at his side. Though Maleficent perceives she's being baited, her trio crosses into the before unexplored region of Ulstead. Powerful the sorcerer may be, he should know better than to clip a bird's wings. Probably Maleval.
1. An Invitation

Hello all, trying my hand at Maleficent because why not?

None of these characters belong to me, they belong to Disney or to their various companies, myths and stories.

* * *

"Diaval! _Find godmother_!"

The raven didn't need to be told twice. He launched himself from his perch on the newly repaired throne, struggling to regain elevation and dipping dangerously close to the distraught queen's golden head. He couldn't see past the thicket of clamoring guards and worrying servants surrounding her, but he could see the bloody arm flung haphazardly across once the once spotless floor. Hopefully it was still attached.

Then he was winging out through the window she considerately always left open just for him, and began to fly through the midsummer sky as hard and fast as he could towards the distant Moors. The guards by now knew to leave the glossy raven to his own devices, after a particular incident that left him near lame from an arrow wound and his Mistress set to tear the barracks apart to find the perpetrator.

He still fondly remembered the scene, before Aurora had broken it up: his Mistress, magically holding aloft five guards and a bucket of pig slop for each of them above their heads. She'd already filled their armour with icy cold water before the queen had intervened. Diaval suspected the only reason the buckets were full of pig slop rather than hot coals was because he was fluttering worriedly about the room at the time, croaking the best reprimand he could muster without human vocal chords.

Though he didn't always understand it, his Mistress did have her own brand of humour.

Even buoyed up by the memory, he kept a wary eye on the patrolling archers until he was sure he was out of range – it never hurt to be too careful, and with Aurora still facing heavy dissent in regards to her peaceful stance she would need him in perfect form and unperforated.

A particularly strong gust caught his wings unexpectedly, and he struggled to maintain a steady pace, a dull ache beginning to set into his wings. Frustrated, Diaval wished briefly his mistress had sent him in his human form, or horse, or dragon. Anything that wasn't easily flung about the sky in this curiously –

Diaval turned his head sharply to the horizon, almost losing his battle against the growing coils buffeting his body – some deep, old instinct turned it in the direction of the human borders, too far even for his keen eyes to pick out. He knew what was beyond those borders.

Though the land was an indistinct smudge, the sky above it was boiling over with thick, black clouds, sucking in distant mountains and rolling over fields made blue-grey from the distance – he could see the lightning crackling within, fine bright capillaries that nonetheless tore ragged rents in the clouds.

They hovered over the landscape like a carrion bird, but when they reached the borders of the human kingdom and the Moors they piled up like mist against a window, lazily caressing the edges in a manner Diaval found distinctly feline.

Though the tempest was held at bay the how and why was a mystery to Diaval – he hoped his mistress had a hand in it, it would mean she was aware and on top of the situation. The storm lines began sinuously spreading around the invisible boundary, a great beast poised to strike. Whatever held its chain had no such control over its breath, and the winds steadily grew worse, bringing a lashing of ice that was as unwelcome as it was foreign to the season.

The wind tripled in strength, this time he could not hold himself aloft. He was flung to the windstreams, buffeted back and forth with the breath being stolen from his throat. Now it was a roar in his eardrums, so loud it felt like a solid force battering his tiny body. A number of feathers, enough to later offend his pride were ripped from his torso, allowing the insidious ice to clamp onto his form.

Desperately, Diaval tried to right himself – he no longer knew where he was going, and the only reason he knew up from down was the vivid, tumbling funnel of blue and green his vision had become.

"Mistress," he tried to croak, but it came out as a tiny caw. His flight muscles screamed, and as the oxygen grew thinner the higher he was flung. He was well above the clouds now, and the world was puffy white mingled with blues.

And for a moment, his eyes full of stars from sunlight refracting through a world made of ice crystals, he could have sworn he saw the pinprick figure of an observer. Higher than even he could go.

His frozen, shivering wings gave out then, still half curled in a parody of his usual elegant wingspan. He hovered for a few more seconds, and if he wanted to joke with himself right before he plunged to his death, he might have said the wind was working extra hard to keep him aloft…

Even those merry thoughts couldn't defy natural order for long. '_Funny,_' Diaval thought dully, though it wasn't. '_I thought I'd meet my end alongside Mistress_.' A pang of regret went through him, even through the cold. She would be angry, upset that he had failed in his duty to the fledgling.

Diaval couldn't even close his eyes; the ice had frozen them open in a manner that would be painful, if his raven's body had been capable of feeling pain at that point.

Even if he couldn't feel pain, he did feel his descent being brought to a gentle halt by slender hands, and tender, thin fingers weave through his frosty feathers. The dragging winds cease abruptly, and he was left trembling mightily in his saviour's grasp. The person – it _was his Mistress, it could only be her_ – drew him close, close to the heat radiating unnaturally from her body, and Diaval realized that she must be pumping spells constantly through her body to be this warm.

It worked wonders towards melting the ice from his wings and stirring his sluggish blood. His beak parted, and the sound that was exhaled was too close to a squeak for Diaval's pride to admit.

His mistress had come for him.

* * *

Maleficent was careful not to hold her faithful companion too close – the sudden heat to his frozen body could well kill him even though he was now in no danger of the cold taking his life. The residual magic saturating his soul could attest to that.

The galewinds howled angrily around the fifteen foot orb of easy calm Maleficent had summon around them, though it was in a petulant manner, like they had been denied a favourite toy. Even without its influence, Maleficent could still taste the magic in the air. It was so strong it coasted the back of her mouth like heavy cream, and she could feel particles of it clogging up her nose.

It was like that magical winter plaguing the northern kingdom six years ago. Even though they had been well away from the danger, magic had floated in on the wind with the snowflakes. Deep, primal magic that was sourced from the soul and inextricably bound to the user.

This was the same. Magic like hers. Like the ice queen. But it was very, very old and very young.

Maleficent sighed, her wings making the slightest of adjustments to gradually bring them down to earth. The clouds skimmed far below their feet, even the highest soft peak a remote lump. If Diaval knew how high he had come, he'd be horrified –

A spark of anger went through the fairy again, stirring old wounds and the resentment that lived dormant in her soul. Diaval, her unrivalled companion, had been dragged up there to die.

Possibly.

Some of her confusion went towards balming the rage; he had been dragged upwards in a cone of sleet, feathers and magic the shade of old blood. But the magic that had kept him aloft for a few, precious seconds so she - pushing herself to the point where it felt like her sinews would snap under the strain – could reach him in time…

The winds renewed their attack on her sphere of serenity, so suddenly she almost lost altitude. But they were plunging through the boiling clouds, and Diaval's breathing had settled into the deep, easy pattern of the almost terminally exhausted. She pulled her raven companion closer to her chest and ran her fingers through his still damp feathers, causing him to stir and give her a happy, half-conscious rumble.

A smile had spread itself across her face, unbidden and slightly mysterious as to the cause. Maleficent tucked the raven into a fold of her dress, close to her body and tightly fastened her cloak – a flicker of her fingers gave it a thicker lining for the bird encased against her heart, who would no doubt awaken absolutely _horrified_ his fine feathers were twisted and ruffled.

The thought made the smile burn brighter. Maybe something good would come out of this day.

She had picked up speed once she had breached the cloud, and now Maleficent's feet were only a hundred yards from the very top tower of her Beastie's castle. She made the rest of the descent quickly and landed right in front of the ornate main doors. Impatiently striding past fidgeting guards and whimpering housemaids, Maleficent kept her pace firm and steady, though worry gnawed at her heart for her little Queen.

Diaval had been coming to get her. It had been sheer, dumb luck that she had felt the foreign magic approaching, and had rushed out to find her family. She had been halfway to the castle when she had felt Diaval struggling through the tenuous connection they held. His fear and fatigue had sung through it, and she had felt it as a spider feels a twanging on her web.

It hadn't been difficult to find him, though a wet, cold stone of worry had lodged in her throat when she realized the dire straits her raven had entangled himself within.

Maleficent had been a war queen for many years; in terms of strategy she relied on brute force first and foremost. But she still liked to know who her enemies _were_, at least, and it was becoming unpleasantly clear that they knew a lot more about her than she did of them.

"Godmother!" Aurora's strained voice broke through her tumbling thoughts, and Maleficent shoved them to the back of her mind. There would be plenty of time for speculation later. Even Diaval stirred at her voice, and Maleficent drew her cloak a little closer around her. She could still feel the chill in his bones like an unwelcome memory.

Then Aurora's arms were around her neck, and the girl was struggling not to cry. Her retinue followed close behind, torn between wishing to comfort their ruler and staying well clear of the once wicked fairy.

Maleficent allowed a cautious hand to rest on Aurora's shoulder, hoping fervently the girl didn't notice it trembling. "What's happened, little Beastie?" she asked in a low voice, but all she got in response was a tiny sob. "Come now."

"No," Aurora hiccupped, pulling away with a shade of her old determination. "_You_ have to come now. Something's gone terribly wrong in the other kingdom – "

"Other kingdom?" Maleficent repeated sharply, her heart sinking. Despite Aurora's open heart to her neighbours, there was only one other kingdom she would weep over. "Is –"

"Phillip is here," Aurora broke back in. "He rode here. I think – I think for days, Godmother. He just rode straight up the steps, into the throne room and fell off his horse." Aurora scrubbed at her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "I-I sent Diaval to get you, he must have flown terribly fast. Dear bird."

Maleficent's throat constricted, and she unconsciously held the hidden bundle of feathers a touch closer. No point in telling her now. It would only upset her again. "Take me to the boy, Aurora."

Prince Phillip was certainly worse for the wear. He had been moved to one of the more opulent guest rooms, patterned distastefully in light yellow and violet. The doors and windows were fastened shut, though the foul wind beat ferociously at the shutters until it seems the walls would tear away. With the shutters closed, a fire going and the summer at it's zenith the heat should have been unbearable, but it was merely warm, doing battle with the icy tempest outside.

He was thin, the poor child, Maleficent observed as she glided up to his side. His face was gaunt and pinched, the bones of his face sticking out too prominently, made all the worse by the buttery candlelight. His arm was heavily bandaged and smelled of the gross, inadequate herbs the humans used in their medicine. Maleficent was certain an infection would set in within the day if it wasn't treated correctly.

"He's only woken once," Aurora whispered at her side, her eyes huge and lost. "He-he didn't know where he was." No wonder. Days of travel with little food, likely no rest and injured as he was? It was a mercy the boy made it over the border.

Maleficent began to pick at the wraps on his arm, screwing up her nose against the sickly assault of the herbs. She could make better poultices in her _sleep_. Thick, dark blood began to ooze through the gaps in his bindings and soak into the sheets.

To Aurora's credit, she didn't make any form of protest beyond a small noise of horror, her hands clamped over her mouth and nose. Maleficent met her huge eyes, keeping her gaze firm until Aurora's breathing steadied and the tightness in her shoulders relaxed. "Aurora." The girl jumped a mile. "I need you to go and get some warm water and clean cloth. Ensure no one else comes in."

The girl nodded, and something changed in her expression, hardened it, and a queen strode out of the room.

Maleficent turned her attention back to the boy's wounds, muttering little charms under her breath, to sooth and cleanse, start mending the smaller cuts and bruises. A few minutes of rudimentary healing and he was looking significantly better, his pallor quickening to that of a healthy human male rather than a corpse.

Maleficent's hand dipped inside her cloak, her questing fingers finding the leather pouch of plants she kept on her at all times. Her healing magic was _exceptional_, but human bodies could only take so much magic before it started to change them in other ways as well. Even Diaval –

Her other hand flew to check the raven, heart pounding and the Prince temporarily forgotten. Diaval had thankfully transitioned from magically induced sleep to a natural slumber, and Maleficent wrestled with the laughter bubbling up when her keen ears caught the tiniest of beaky whistling. She didn't even know ravens _could_ snore, though perhaps it was an ingrained habit from his human form.

For the next few minutes, Maleficent's hands went back and forth from her pouch, mashing young leaves between her fingers and squeezing juice from ripe berries into the paste. The salve was all she could do until she could boil the boy a healing tea, but it would set him mending much faster than the clumsy efforts of the human healers. Even so, she dropped a few select herbs and poppy milk into the jug of wine set by his bed. Water would have been better but the humans seemed incapable of keeping even their own supply clean.

She had a small amount of soft bark bandages left over – Diaval had an uncanny ability to be shot, gored, gnawed, scratched, pecked, batted and smacked almost on a weekly basis, and she got as much practice nursing a manshape as she did a ravenshape. Same principle, she told herself, though her hands quivered whenever she touched Phillip's unfamiliar skin. Soon his arm was reset, and she noted pridefully that her quality of work was far beyond that of the human healers.

A croak made her freeze. The prince's eyes had cracked open, his gaze unfocused and full of pain. He looked like one of the dumb woodland animals, half dead from the hunting dogs and frightened of everything. "M-Milady," Phillip tried again, and the cough that followed made her heart clench oddly. Maleficent patiently fed him a few sips of the wine, which he gulped down greedily until she pulled the cup away, and allowed him a few more moments for the medicinal plants to take effect.

"Milady." Still he tried to speak! Maleficent crushed her irritation and seated herself on the very edge of the bed, waiting for him to continue. "Milady…I-I come bearing a message."

Maleficent thought she would be distressed to hear such a thing from the beleaguered prince. But no – her breathing was even, her hands steadied and she didn't move her eyes from his face. She was, Maleficent realized, preparing for battle.

"He says…he says he desires to speak with you," Phillip finally rasped out, and Maleficent could faintly hear Aurora's voice harrying a gaggle of maids to the bedroom. The queen's light footsteps were quickly drawing closer. "Milady…he s-s-says he has an offer to make y-you."

"I imagine this isn't from your own father, whelp," Maleficent said softly. She heard Aurora enter the room and come to a halt, her greeting dying her on lips. Maleficent didn't move her calculating gaze from Phillip's small, tired eyes. "Can you give me a name?"

"My father was killed in the assault, Milady." Somehow the boy had regained a bit of his strength, though the poppy milk should have kicked in by now. Perhaps she _had_ overdone it on the magic. "My sister he has kept, my mother along with her." His fingers weakly yet urgently grasped her sleeve, and she fought off the desire to throw his hand away. "He has a monster, Milady. Like nothing I've ever seen. I lived only by his desire to see me deliver this to you in person." It was a statement, and a warning in of itself, sparing the prince. '_Showy_,' Maleficent thought. '_Makes an impression but speaks of a potentially fatal arrogance_.'

"A monster?" Aurora was at his side now, and the smile Phillip sent her way was so tender it softened even Maleficent. "Oh, Phillip, I wish I had known you were coming. I would have sent a retinue out to guard you!" Now Aurora was kneeling by the bed, intent on the boy. "What can we do? Do you need us to ride to Ulstead?"

"No!" The force of his exclamation startled Aurora and Maleficent both, though Aurora stayed where she was. Maleficent retreated to the end of the bed, slightly out of the light. It turned her fair skin dark grey, but her eyes glinted out of the darkness, gleaming new coins in an elfin face.

"No, Aurora, your Majesty, my lady," Phillip struggled for a moment, and calmed only when Aurora smiled her sweetest smile and wove her fingers around his. "The beast, the great animal this man has…it tore through the thickest walls like knives through paper. Immense wings, the redness, I could see my face in its wings…" again the Prince fought with himself, though this was a fierce internal agony. He stared, unseeing, into the candlelight for a time, until Maleficent voice brought him back.

"A name." he blinked at her dumbly, the poppy milk finally taking effect.

"Roth," he slurred, settling back against the pillows. "He called himself Roth." The prince's eyes closed, his breathing even, and at least he worried no more for the time being.

Maleficent and Aurora exchanged glances. "Do you…know the name, Godmother?" Aurora ventured. "Do you know what he wants?"

Maleficent motioned for her to follow. "I have heard the name, though only in rumours I hoped to be foolish and without fact." They departed the room, Aurora giving strict instructions to the manservants waiting anxiously outside to clean Prince Phillip and to tell her as soon as he had awoken.

Silently, they walked the short distance to the private summer sitting room – it was a pleasant, airy room, with a high ceiling, wide windows and light colours. It must have been one of Leila's, for she seemingly had more modest tastes than one would expect from a queen. It was certainly more tasteful than the room Phillip had unfortunately been granted.

Instead of seating herself, Maleficent went and stood by the window. The glass here was older, thicker, so the shutters had yet to be drawn. Judging by the berry-sized hail mounding up already it would only be a matter of time until the whole castle would be locked up tight.

She glared up at the sky, daring their elusive attackers to come within range. The sky was so clear now, scoured spotless by the breeze, deep blue and unmarred by even a wisp of a cloud. Still the cold came, whisked along by relentless winds.

"Godmother?" Maleficent turned back to face Aurora, who had not seated herself either. Instead she stood by the fire, fidgeting nervously, and Maleficent realized with a jolt of guilt how out of her depth her little Beastie would be. She'd barely been officially Queen for eight months, and now she had a grievously wounded prince and an enchanted gale in her lap.

"My apologies, Aurora, I was off with the fairies," Maleficent said with a smile. Aurora smiled back, though the jest was weak, and Maleficent found herself crossing the room to embrace the girl in a rare hug. She could _feel_ the girl brighten, and she threw her arms around her beloved mother-figure.

It would have been a perfect moment, if not for the indignant squawk that set them leaping apart in shock. Maleficent's robe writhed and jittered, Diaval quite awake and very confused. His bewilderment was matched by Aurora, who was staring at Maleficent's jostling torso with her jaw nearly touching the floor.

Maleficent sighed and unfastened the cloak – skies above knew she did not need it indoors. A few seconds more of frantic struggling and Diaval was free, awkwardly batting wings as he struggled to stay aloft. He managed to land on the back of an overstuffed armchair, and cawed obnoxiously until Maleficent gave him back his human form.

The newly manshaped Diaval slid down the chair as he changed, depositing him neatly on the embroidered cushions. "What happened?" he asked plaintively, flexing stiff fingers; he then noticed Aurora's giggles. "What?" The girl wordlessly pointed, her grin threatening to split her face in two.

Diaval slowly raised his hands to his hairs and felt the thrashed mix of hair and feathers – it looked as though a bear had fallen in it, and Maleficent felt her day lift up ever so slightly. The look on his face, as she predicted, warmed the cockles of Maleficent's heart.

"Consider it a worthy exchange for your life, Diaval," she said dryly, before he could continue with the outraged lamentations she could see forming. It effectively deflated him for now, though the complaining was evidently being saved for another time.

"Diaval, you didn't find Godmother?" Aurora asked, her brow crinkled in puzzlement. Now it was Maleficent and Diaval who shared the glance.

"I found him," Maleficent said airily. "I was nearly at the castle at the time." And lucky for him. She could feel his gaze smoldering into her as he put the pieces together. His scrutiny warmed her, but she would not meet his eyes.

"So why was he in your dress?" Aurora asked uncertainly, and even Diaval's accusing stare turned a shade inquisitive. It was a purely practical move, the raven was half dead, there could be enemies out there, and tucking him away somewhere was really the best option. But recently Aurora had taken it into her head to ask innocent questions which left Maleficent feeling extremely…scrutinized.

"I needed the use of my hands," Maleficent answered tartly, and though this opened up a _myriad_ of extra questions, Aurora and Diaval were wise enough to know when they were pressing their luck.

Aurora decided to change tack. She sat in the chair opposite Diaval, at first in her natural, relaxed posture – after a few moments, she drew herself up straighter, proud, with her chin in the air. Practising her queenly graces.

"Godmother, what does that Roth man want from you?" she asked evenly, though a tremor betrayed her uncertainty.

"He is no mere man, Aurora." Now Maleficent glanced out the window again. Through the leaves and frost whisked about, the sunlight shimmering beautifully through it all, she imagined she could make out a tiny, watchful figure. "He is a sorcerer."

She turned to face them both now. "And he wishes to see me."

"Will you go?" Diaval asked hushedly, after a moment's silence.

Maleficent could feel a warm coming on – she could feel it right between her wings, like a bruise, and it made her wings nervous. "I must. This weather is a danger to the Moors and to the human kingdom. Not to mention my magic cannot hold off the storm forever." Calling it a storm was like describing a dragon as an abnormally large lizard. Technically, that was what it was, but it missed some deadly details.

Diaval was nodding in unison with Aurora. By unspoken agreement, they both stood. "When do we leave?" Diaval asked eagerly, his elbows twitching in the way they did when he was already imagining himself on the breeze.

Maleficent pursed her lips. "I will be going alone."

* * *

Thoughts?


	2. Love Answers To Many

I hope you had a lovely time over the break. I hung out with a horse and made myself sick on raspberries.

* * *

The howls of protests had started approximately three seconds later, and had continued unabated for hours.

It started out tame at first, both protesting they couldn't let her go alone ("Into the jaws of certain death, Mistress!") to insisting a royal presence be required ("This could escalate to a full-scale war, Godmother, if I don't take initiative and extend the hand of friendship while there is still time to rally!"). The last one made an annoying amount of sense to Maleficent, but to acknowledge Aurora's fair point would only encourage the two.

Not even changing Diaval into a variety of creatures helped. He cawed and swooped about her head as a raven, worried at her feet as a kitten, swarmed over her shoulders as a snake and simply _wailed_ when she transformed him into a fox, the closest form to a dog as she would dare.

Aurora herself first coaxed, then wheedled, begged and cried, made all sorts of promises and finally threw a tantrum the likes of which she hadn't pitched even in childhood. She had even thrown her pillows across the room – one had managed to clip Diaval while he was sulking in the form of a bat, and Aurora's anger had temporarily evaporated while she apologized profusely to the dazed chiropteran.

Maleficent had made the journey out to the Moors just to have a moment's peace, to find them buffeted but not to the extremes of the human kingdom. The relief the Moorfolk expressed at her return was gratifying, filling her with a warm sense of relief and appreciation. Even after those strange, cold years they still instantly welcomed her back, worried after her welfare.

Diaval promptly spoilt it. Maleficent had changed him back to a raven out of habit, and had been over the castle walls before she realized her mistake. He'd remained blessedly quiet for the whole journey, and if she hadn't been so relieved for the reprieve she would have found it mightily suspicious.

He had winged off somewhere when she finally managed to draw Balthazar aside, the fair folk preparing to welcome the evening – even during the dark years, they took refuge in their routine, and part of that was greeting the moon in all her many forms.

Balthazar and Maleficent remained tucked away in the shadows under a drowsy waterfall of honeysuckle, white blossoms jangling in the cool breeze and wafting their pretty scent. The Moors would hold out for much longer than the human kingdom – the lands were old, and as mired in routine as the inhabitants. It wouldn't take kindly to an enforced winter, so the summer here would not disperse without a fight.

"It comes from the human kingdom – Ulstead," Maleficent said softly, watching the water sprites begin their evening dance. "The name is unhappily well known to me, though my knowledge is dated by nearly two decades." Balthazar's disapproving grunt made Maleficent's head bow briefly, a claw of guilt shooting up to rake her heart. "Yes, I should have kept up my communication with the others. I assure you, Balthazar, I have never regretted that more than in this moment."

"The Fauve was the last to cease correspondence," Balthazar rumbled. "It may be wise to send out missives to the Lords and Ladies." Maleficent nodded in agreement, a little absentmindedly.

"Balthazar…" The tree guardian waited patiently. He knew the sad, faraway lilt in her voice too well. "This sorcerer, Roth…when last I heard of him he was making himself to be the nightmare of a southern kingdom. A silly little upstart at the time, but if he is behind this magical storm…my magic can't hold it off forever, and I cannot willingly expose anyone else to this threat."

Maleficent fell silent, watching the water guardians rise and spin through their dance. The moon showed her favour tonight, and her smiling face swam with their blooming lights, mingled with ripples and giggles alike.

The tree guardian waited still, his knotted and rooted heart sparing a bud of sympathy for their protector. It was moments like these, when none of the Moorfolk were looking and she was reasonably sure Diaval was distracted elsewhere that Maleficent looked closer to the brazen young girl she had once been. Strong and willing, but unaware of her own vulnerability.

"I will send missives out to Fauve," Maleficent announced, her shoulders squaring and chin lifting. "She has always been a great source of knowledge, if a little coy. One out to that _wretched_ Magdalena, and I suppose I must send one to The Sorrowful Prince as well, blast him…" Maleficent continued rattling off names, most with an unflattering addendum, and if tree guardians had an equivalent to rolling their eyes Balthazar was sure he would be doing it.

When it came to beings of magic, the only thing that could possibly match their power was the degree of bickering and pettiness leveled at their peers.

Still, he had a request to make. It was rare he made any sort of appeal so Balthazar hoped she would take this one seriously. "Protector." Balthazar's rumble cut through Maleficent's tirade against the upper echelons of faefolk. "For my own peace, I must ask this."

She fell silent, looking up at him openly and expectantly, and it made his heart soften just a little. Maleficent was returning to them, to _him_, piece by piece – she would never be the light-hearted faerie she once was, the war had left too many battlescars and hard memories. But he could see the first shy blushes of spring his New Queen had breathed to life in their steadfast defender.

"Protector, I see the path you wish to travel. You do not truly expect to return from this venture." Maleficent flinched, but did not try to interrupt. "You undervalue yourself, and believe your sacrifice would be unimportant to this kingdom."

Now she did try to interrupt. "Balthazar, my presence – "

"_Is not only desired, but required_," Balthazar boomed over top, attracting the attention of a few pixies at the edge of the closing dance. "The Moors would be devastated to lose their protector. The Raven would languish and the New Queen would suffer." He leaned down so their faces were mere inches apart. "Those here would grieve your passing, and the Moor would be vulnerable until a new guardian arose. If not The Maleficent, then The War Queen must listen; _this is a battle we cannot afford to lose_."

It was, perhaps, the most Balthazar had ever said to her at once; he was the most taciturn of her guards, and she had always appreciated this. Their patrols had often been composed entirely of silence which spoke volumes more than words ever could.

"I…understand you, my friend." Maleficent did not break her gaze, merely inclined her head respectfully. "Your candor is appreciated; what would you have of me?"

* * *

Upon rejoining the Moorfolk, Maleficent's first hint there was something amiss was three squabbling pixies cannonballing into the side of her head. Her horns took the brunt of it, sending them skidding along its length to pinwheel off the tips and back into the air, but she still leveled her best wintry gaze at them. It silenced the wittering for a moment, and then to her surprise they simultaneously aimed a mirroring glare at her.

"Maleficent! You cannot be seriously thinking of venturing into that foreign human kingdom alone!" Knotgrass trilled, her fists firmly planted on her hips. Flittle and Thistlewit assembled just behind her, sheepishly supportive.

"I am a very serious individual," Maleficent replied loftily, wondering idly if she could somehow bribe the wallerbogs into filling Knotgrass' flower cap with mud. Then she finally made sense of words and blanched. "How…who told you I was planning on going alone?"

"We have our own sources."

"_Secret_ sources."

"It was Diaval."

"_Thistlewit_."

Diaval chose that moment to arrive on a nearby branch and croak triumphantly at them all, matching Maleficent's fierce look with his own, albeit beady-eyed stare.

Maleficent gritted her teeth and tried to plan out how this particular battle would end. As happy as she was to put the old days behind her, it was much easier to get her own way when she was queen and every creature in the Moors trembled at her name. She sometimes gave Diaval too little credit – he could be a devious bird when he wanted to, and he had spent the last few years running interference between herself and the Moorfolk.

It all meant that he probably had a better rapport with many of the faeries, pixies and goblins than she did. He was certainly playing off that now.

Maleficent wanted to take Diaval with her. Ever since the idea of going alone, _completely_ alone, had announced itself she had felt unbalanced and more than a little worried. She always had Diaval. She always knew exactly where her raven servant was, and had known from the minute he swore himself to her service.

Going without Diaval would be like once more being without her wings.

The pixies had devolved into squabbling amongst themselves, and it only took Maleficent stepping forward for the attention to once again be focused on her. "I am going alone because this is a danger unlike anything we've faced for many years," Maleficent began. "In the last hundred years the only threat to the Moors has been mankind and we have always held them back. This sorcerer we face now may not even be a man." Her voice lowered slightly, and the Moorfolk drew closer, "Despite my grave mistakes of the past, I have always been your guardian. I will not falter in that duty now and I will not ask anyone to accompany me."

Diaval squawked angrily, and she bit down on the urge to look his way. She would explain later, much later.

"Well then – " Knotgrass rose a couple more inches, "- we – as in, we the folk of the Moors – do have a requirement of this endeavour of yours. Taking into account your, er, previous difficulties –"

"– We want you to take someone else with you," Thistlewit chirruped, twirling eagerly. "Just to make sure you're safe! Perhaps take Amadeus, or Kisses-Morning-Dewdrops?"

"I go alone because of the danger," Maleficent answered, fighting to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"But you and Diaval cannot possibly – "

"I said alone!"

The glade was silent, and the folk around her looked befuddled. "Yes," Flittle said at last. "Alone, but for Diaval."

"Alone, without Diaval," Maleficent said in a tone of finality.

"You mean…" This was Flittle, finally chiming in, "Diaval will stay behind?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"…How _strange_."

"Well." All heads turned to Thistlewit, who beamed brightly. "If it's even too dangerous for Diaval, it must be very serious."

"_Yes_, exactly," Maleficent repeated gratefully. A pixie being agreeable always heralded trouble, she remembered too late.

"So we should all go with you!" Thistlewit said excitedly. "You'll be perfectly safe with all the Moorfolk about you, we can take turns keeping watch and scouting ahead, and we can set up camp every night and – "

Thistlewit continued chattering away to herself, while her suggestion was met with mixed reactions. The mudslingers and fungus sprites looked apprehensive, whereas the water -and-air nymphs were almost bursting with delight. Several of the younger ones scampered off to presumably prepare, hooting with glee at the idea of an adventure.

Maleficent had fallen into a momentary catatonic state induced by sheer horror, and it took her a couple of seconds to gather her wits. How many spirits and fairies were about the Moor now? Spring always brought a host of new flora dryads, and they were already well into the fresh summer months. The idea of possibly several thousand mischievous, easily distracted, comparatively vulnerable fae folk roaming about in enemy territory was enough to make –

Pain blossomed behind Maleficent's eyes; dry, hard agony which left purple and green spots dancing in her vision. Not _now_. Not when things were just going so well.

"_No_." The finality in her voice settled the eager creatures around her. "Certainly not. It rather defeats the point of protecting the Moors if you all come into danger."

"But – "

"This isn't a ramble down to the willow springs, Thistlewit," Maleficent snapped and guilt stabbed through her again when Thistlewit's round face began to crumple, tears brimming in her eyes. Pixies were juvenile but they weren't complete fools. Maleficent took in a slow breath and took a few steps closer to the hovering pixie, holding out her hand so Thistlewit could balance like a cottonseed on the tips of her fingers. "My…my apologies, Thistlewit." The apology was strained, but spoken nonetheless. "Perhaps we _will_ need an army to face this man, but not everyone here is battleready. I cannot take that risk."

"We-we just wish to protect you, Maleficent," Thistlewit trembled out; pressing her tiny fists against her eyes to stems the flow of tears. "We just want to help."

The faerie swallowed past a sudden strange lump in her throat. "I know. Let me protect you for the time being."

Thistlewit shivered off her fingers, her sheer wings catching the silvery moonrays as she hovered back to her sisters. Maleficent drew in a deep breath and once more faced the Moorfolk. For a moment, she merely looked into each face, seeing the hope, the fear, the expectation, the trust and distrust…

Etching each face into her memory. A name to each mien, a history along with that. Her last minutes may be spent far from her home, and if her life was to be torn away she wanted to be able to recall every aspect in perfect detail before oblivion.

"I will consider this request," Maleficent announced, the sudden relaxation amongst the Moorfolk making her blink rapidly. "But I will be departing as soon as I am able, and I will not bring anyone who is unable to battle, or unable to keep pace." That effectively ruled out most of her flock, though they had yet to realize it.

"Diaval." The raven, forgotten until now, croaked apprehensively but winged up into the darkness. Maleficent spread her wings, giving them a warming shake, and was about to follow her servant when Flittle swung forward hesitantly.

"Maleficent?"

The faerie paused, her wings outstretched and glorious, moonlight catching previously unnoticed gold and copper flecks and setting them alight, until it seemed her feathers were garlanded with jewels. "Yes?"

"If…if you don't come back…" the pixie started, almost drowned out by the worried murmur that followed, "will there be another to protect the Moors?"

Maleficent's eyes flickered to Balthazar, who tilted his head towards her. "Yes. Another will come, until the Moors provide another champion. The Moors will always be protected."

* * *

It was a very sour trio who adjourned for a late dinner that night. It didn't help that the cosy private dining room they normally supped in was unavailable – a venerable Rowan tree had crashed through the east facing window and shattered the table, right where the queen would usually sit. Already jumpy from the magical tempest, Captain John had taken it as an ill omen and insisted Aurora take her meal in the innermost dining room, which was the one usually reserved for grand balls and royal events. It could seat well over three hundred people and was virtually impossible to dust.

They dined at one end of one vast table, the darkness feebly held at bay by a dozen stubby girandoles dripping with grimy glass ornaments. The glass reflected the quivering candlelight and made their eyes sting, but the darkness around them simply swallowed up any refractions sent beyond the table. Noise tangled in the cobwebs lacing the rafters and left ghostly imitations in the grey thread.

Aurora had been forced to go about her royal duties once her godmother had left, which included going through the seventeenth redraft of the new tax laws; authorizing the re-establishment of trade routes with two minor kingdoms; addressing the ongoing food shortages and, as a recent development, issuing a general reassurance to the population that this latest storm was not a sudden act of aggression on the part of the Moors.

"– I don't even find this darkness natural!" Aurora complained, finally throwing down her fork onto her half-finished plate of beef. The force of it spattered her dress with gravy, but she paid it no mind. Aurora leaned forward, trying to catch Maleficent's eye. "Godmother? Are you well?"

"Hmmm?" Maleficent didn't look up from her intense observation of her goblet. She had six glasses of spiced apricot nectar that night, all downed in quick succession; anything to wipe out the cloying taste of unfamiliar magic.

"You worry the Queen." Diaval's words were clipped, and he didn't look up from his own examination of his plate. Diaval usually took his food as lightly cooked as he could get away with – rare meat and raw vegetables might serve a raven well enough, but that diet left his manshape groaning in agony for hours, clutching his stomach and beseeching his mistress to just kill him, please.

Maleficent struck out at him with her gaze once, and it softened as it swung towards her Beastie. "My apologies, Aurora, I have been lost in thought for most of the day."

Aurora smiled warmly at her, nodding sympathetically and sending her golden curls flying about her face. "Of course, godmother. This new menace has us all a bit preoccupied." The girl settled back against her cushions, picking up her fork again with practiced neutrality. "Speaking of which, when are we leaving for Ulstead?"

Diaval perked up at that. "Yes, we should leave as soon as possible. That milksop – "

"– _Phillip_, who the _prince_ of the _kingdom_ we are going to _save_, Diaval – "

"– yes, the whelp prince, he is near recovered." Diaval grinned for the first time that night at Aurora's good-natured huffing. "He might have something useful to say. For once."

"Prince Phillip often has insightful and fascinating things to say," Aurora dutifully defended her guest and friend. But a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, hinting at the imp of mischief Maleficent had imparted over the years. "But I think that's a grand idea. He was eating this afternoon, so I believe tomorrow he will be well-rested enough to give us some very good advice."

"It will be insightful," Diaval agreed. The two surreptitiously glanced at Maleficent, waiting for her to chime in, but the faerie was once again absorbed by the ripples and swirls of the dark orange liquid in her cup.

"And fascinating," Aurora finished after a moment, and they exchanged a near-victorious glance. "So that's settled. I'll ask Captain John to arrange us some horses, and Ser Gerome was a perfect regent while King Stefan was…busy. I'm sure we won't mind stepping in for a few weeks while we sort out that Roth man."

Still nothing from Maleficent. Diaval knew he could wait the whole evening before she returned to the conversation as though she never left, but Aurora was not as well-honed with her patience. The queen clapped her hands together gleefully, once again letting her fork drop to her plate.

"Wonderful!"

Silence fell over the table. Then…

"No. You're not coming." Maleficent did not even deign them with a glance. She sat as she had been almost the whole meal, twirling the stem of her goblet between long, spindly fingers, her eyes frosty green. "You are needed here, Aurora. And Diaval must stay with you. I have decided."

The silence, now paralyzed with shock, was shattered by Diaval clearing his throat. "But you won't be going alone, Mistress. I will be coming with you."

He didn't falter under her scrutiny, merely allowed her severe eyes to rake his form, delve under his skin and set parts of his body and mind alight with her passion. Maleficent rarely looked at people with her full attention, and he knew why from the very beginning. For a faerie to give something their complete consideration was to feel flayed open and very…compliant.

"And what makes you think that, my little raven?" Maleficent asked silkily, setting down her chalice with a thump.

"Because I have always gone where you go, and I always will," Diaval answered serenely; his air was that of a priest delivering the same message for decades to a flock of non-believers. "Not even your magic can stop me. You could turn me into a slug and I would squirm across the garden, out to the fields and across the border. I may then be eaten alive by one of my former brethren, so it would perhaps be best if you turned me into something that could be of more assistance to you."

"Diaval." Despite his attempt at making her smile, Maleficent was deadly serious. "I have spoken to you of this before. You need not fight my battles – "

"With all due _respect_, Mistress, this isn't just your battle!" Diaval cried, and he could have _slapped_ himself for interrupting her. But she was not the faerie she had been years ago. With naught but a certain narrowing of her eyes and tightening of her jaw, Maleficent motioned for him to continue.

Diaval took a deep breath, mainly to give himself some time to marshal his thoughts. "I know you…spoke to Balthazar today. About who would protect the Moors if…the worst happened." Aurora made a tiny noise, but did not interrupt. "I think I know who you're going to ask."

"Do you." It was a flat statement. She expected him to listen to her conversations, so she wouldn't have to repeat herself later.

Diaval nodded. "That…Sorrowful Prince. He's the only one who would make the effort."

"Who's The Sorrowful Prince?" Aurora finally broke in curiously. "Sorry," she added when Diaval shot her a disapproving look.

"The Moors were previously unaffiliated with any kingdom or court," Maleficent answered, fiddling restlessly with her cup once again. She had hoped to spare Aurora the intricacies of faerie politics for some time. "And we have maintained only the barest contact with any faerie or elf faction for as long as I can remember. The Sorrowful Prince rules the Seelie courts – he is a last resort, as I fully intend to come back from this, _Diaval_."

But her raven-man servant met her glare with one just as intense. "If you don't come back, neither do I," Diaval insisted, folding his arms across his chest. "It's Aurora's kingdom as well as the Moors that are at risk. And I rather _like_ living in the Moors. I'd rather be at your side than waiting here."

"He'd fret himself to death if he stayed here, godmother," Aurora stepped in gently. "As would I. I would bring an army with us, if we had one available."

The realization struck the two of them then. They were all the two kingdoms had. In a way that was so sickening it was almost laughable, they were truly the best bet against this foe. It made Aurora pale and Diaval gnaw at his lip, but Maleficent remained as calm and statuesque as she had always been.

Then, like a tree bending and breaking to a gale, Maleficent sighed and dropped her head forward, her hair sliding to conceal her face in a silky chestnut curtain. It gave her a brooding air. "You…truly will follow me regardless, won't you?" The quiet sadness in her gave them both pause, and the two shared another anxious glance across the table.

It was Diaval who spoke first. "Of course, Mistress." She raised her head to meet his eyes. "To anywhere, I will shadow your steps." The warmth in his smile trickled like piping hot sunlight into the darkest caves of her soul, and she found an answering smile ghost about her lips.

"And me!" They broke away then to stare at Aurora, who was smiling with nervous but genuine warmth. "You're my godmother. And Diaval's my godfather, I suppose! I couldn't let you go into danger alone – what kind of queen would I be?"

"A queen who still draws breath," Maleficent reminded her dryly.

But Aurora shrugged, and looked sadly wiser than her handful of summers should allow. "I am a queen now – and you are both under my protection. I would make an unworthy queen if I allowed such a threat to linger at my borders. Even if you locked me up in the tallest tower, I would climb out the window and set out behind you." Her smile turned a shade cheeky. "Besides, if you take me now at least you know where I am!"

Finally, Maleficent groaned and picked up her cup again. "Skies above, _fine_." Aurora whooped and leapt out of her chair, burbling happily as she dashed around the table to fling her arms around her godmother. Maleficent put on an air of long-suffering tolerance, but her hand came up to rest affectionately on Aurora's crown.

The faerie pulled back to hold Aurora at arms length, the maiden still positively trembling with delight. "But. You must swear to do exactly as I say, and if I tell you to run you must _run_ for the border, and not stop." Aurora nodded with as much severity as she could muster at that point.

"Alright, godmother," she consented. "I shall stick close to Diaval, shall I?'

"Certainly not, he is a foolish, vain bird who will only get himself killed for some silly noble reason," Maleficent contradicted instantly.

"I am not vain," Diaval protested bitterly to his plate, sending Aurora into another fit of giggles.

* * *

"Diaval?"

The raven-man was shaken from his thoughts by the first word his mistress had spoken to him since dinner adjourned. She was seated on the window seat in their quarters, stripped of its plush cushions so she could recline on the hardwood base. Her hair was unbound and tumbled down her back and over her shoulders, honey highlights set against the matching colours in her wings. She was watching the storm outside, watching it battle with the hard summer that had grasped the land. So far, the summer seemed to be winning – any ice that made it to the ground quickly melted, and handfuls of snow flung about the air came down as a warm summer shower.

It was eerie, unnatural to see such a storm play out while the stars gleamed magnificently in the stark sky. "You have always been honest with me," Maleficent continued, her fingers curled pensively around her scarlet mouth. "I have always been grateful for it, even only in hindsight." She shifted slightly, and Diaval was blessed with the sight of his mistress in one of her more open states.

They were provided with sleeping clothes but Maleficent preferred the light shift she wore under her gown – it was thin and gossamer, made from spidersilk, and in his human form it sent all sorts of _confusing_ shivers and sparks up and down Diaval's form. It seemed impossibly fragile against her wings, which were huge, relaxed and –

\- _ruffled_.

Diaval's fingers twitched.

"Yes mistress?" he croaked, hastily swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat.

"Am I doing the right thing?" Maleficent asked softly. He crossed the room to her, maintaining a respectful distance for now, but every fiber of his being was screaming at his to plunge his hands into her feathers and start smoothing them out. He'd done it for her before, and she found it immensely relaxing. "Deciding to bring Aurora along," she clarified, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "She is so eager to help, to be a good queen."

"Mistress, I – "a frisson went through her wings at his voice, and from here he could see the creamy flecks, the bars of gold and veins of copper flickering gaily through out. Diaval struggled to find his voice. "I-I think when you relinquished the crown to Aurora, you did not consider that she rules over _you_ now. Aurora does not think like that, but if she desires to confront this sorcerer with us there's little we can do. Aside from tying her to Balthazar."

Maleficent looked at him then, her expression equal parts hope and wry humour. "Is that an option?"

"I doubt Balthazar would thank you." The chuckle he received buoyed his heart in ways he never knew possible when he had simply been a raven.

"I would die of grief if I lost her now, Diaval," his mistress admittedly softly. Her hand slipped from her jaw to her forehead, supporting elbow resting on the wide windowsill. Diaval was sitting behind her before he even realized he had moved, his hands only shaking a tiny bit as they nestled themselves between her shoulder blades. His mistress' eyes half-closed, her breathing deepened and he felt rather than saw her shoulders relax. "I fear, truly, for her life."

Diaval squeezed his own eyes shut, hands working automatically to smooth, flatten and shape her wings, working the small oil glands at the base until his head was so _full_ of her warm, heavy scent it made the room spin. "Mistress…I know that you will protect Aurora or die trying. She knows that, and she is just as determined to protect you." Perhaps more. Not an avid reader yet, Aurora had nonetheless ordered the librarian to bring her every book on magic and sorcery the castle contained; when Diaval had bid her goodnight she'd only grunted in reply, her nose buried in the peeling yellow pages of a worn octavo.

"But what if that's not enough, Diaval?" whispered Maleficent, watching the storm through her lashes, her irises sandy jade slits. "If I perish and still the danger persists?"

"Well, I suppose I'll have to step in after that," Diaval said solemnly, and he felt the laugh vibrate under her skin to tingle deliciously through his fingers.

"I am glad she would have you, at least," Maleficent breathed, and she spoke no more that night. Diaval continued his work, banishing the though of sleep from his mind as he reveled in her wings. Even when he finished, he went over them a second time, until he pridefully couldn't have done better for a – a mate.

And as he worked, Maleficent watched his reflection in the glass, but kept her thoughts to herself.

* * *

Oh gods, so much TALKING. I can't wait until they actually leave next chapter.


	3. The Long Night

SO. Updated, after so long! How is it almost mid-February already? This chapter has a weird, sudden tonal shift. This is intentional. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed!

* * *

"Diaval."

The raven man snapped awake. His mistress hovered above him, her eyes bright and glittering in the almost total darkness. He was half sprawled off the window seat, his back aching and his side strangely cold.

Diaval wetted his lips and tried to focus on his mistress. "Yes?" He finally managed, sitting up slowly. It struck him then, forcing him wide awake, that Maleficent was already dressed and ready, her wings shaking in agitation.

"Are you leaving?" he asked throatily, standing and cursing his still fatigued limbs. She nodded.

"Yes."

"Am I to go with you?" Diaval would follow her even if she refused. But it would be nicer to be welcome.

Thankfully, his mistress gave a curt nod. "Yes. But now." With no further explanation she glided towards the doors; trailing behind, Diaval found the more he tried to focus on her form the further his thoughts drifted and wavered. Maleficent hadn't felt the need to glamour herself in such a way for many months, and the knot in Diaval's stomach, the one which had formed yesterday afternoon, began to solidify into a cold lump of fear.

The corridors were dim, only a few torches burning low. As Maleficent sailed past them they each sighed wearily, and went out. It left only the bright moonlight streaming through stained glass windows to light their passage in bars of shadowed colour. Maleficent slipped from light to dark - he followed the rustle of her skirt.

"Mistress, Aurora's room is up that way," He tried to call a whisper, but his mistress did not face him.

"She is not there." Maleficent turned left, away from the spiraling staircase leading to Aurora's recently refurbished room and into another long hallway. The windows on this one were three times his height and clear as the Moorland streams, and through the panes he could see high cold stars – so far-off it seemed like they were trying to distance themselves from the castle. Their pale light reflected off a fine layer of ice which had formed over the lawn – it seemed summer had given up the battle, for now.

A breath shuddered through the castle, made the stones whimper.

Maleficent paused, her gaze far-off and searching. She stayed so perfectly still, a statue carved from shadow and moonlight. For several minutes, Diaval wasn't even certain she was breathing – even her wings had stilled.

He drew closer to her, reaching out a tentative, shaking hand to draw her attention. Before he could make even the slightest brush against her skin she moved again, this time with great purpose, and he was left standing foolishly for a few seconds.

"What do you hear, mistress?" he whispered hoarsely, scurrying to her side, as close as he could get without being struck by one of her snapping wings.

Maleficent half turned to face him, her sharp features silhouetted against the frosted light. Her head tilted to the side – it took another second for Diaval to realize she was listening more intently than ever.

He was almost blinded by what happened next – Maleficent's eyes burned bright, bright as new embers in the darkness, and she turned gracefully on the balls of her feet. She was once again away before he could react, but this time she positively raced down the corridor, her wings flaring out behind her.

"No time!" Maleficent's whisper carried back, and Diaval was then hard on her heels. The halls melted into a wild, twisting blur, and he was guided only by a deep-rooted sense of certainty in her location and destination, following the tenuous thread which had linked them for years.

Finally, Maleficent slammed to a stop outside a vaguely familiar door – Phillip's door. His mistress took a moment to compose herself, drawing in a deep, soothing breath as her hand rested on the doorknob. She turned it slowly, deliberately, setting herself slightly off to the side so the sweet candlelight could pour through the gap unhindered. Diaval melted similarly into the shadows and waited, tense, his throat painfully tight.

What was Maleficent _watching_ for?

When, gloriously, nothing happened, Maleficent glanced at him, her eyes still bright as comets tracking across a deathly still early morning.

He nodded. She slithered through the tiny gap she'd made, and he followed.

Aurora was slumped in the nearby armchair, an open book dangling from loose fingers. The door creaked loudly, and she jerked awake with an unladylike snort. "Wha'…" she began, blinking languidly at the two of them striding towards her. Then her eyes flew to Prince Phillip, who slept still, his face pale against bruise-coloured pillows. "Oh, er, I was just – "

"No time." Maleficent made to reach for her, but something none but her could hear made her pause. "No time," she repeated, her voice faint and shaky, like an old woman's pulse.

What happened next would haunt Diaval for many years after.

Her words stretched, and echoed in Diaval's ears, wriggling and distorting until he was forced to clamp his hands over his ears. He had never felt so totally, horrifically human, so aware of his fingers, his tastebuds, the gurgling mishmash of his brain, the emptiness of his shoulder blades.

The air tightened around him and despite his best efforts a kind of deep hum reverberated painfully through his eardrums and struck out viciously at his bones. It forced him to his knees. He saw Aurora's mouth open in a soundless shriek, saw Phillip sit up in bed with altogether too much recognition in his eyes and his mistress –

Her hand curled around the back of his neck, and it felt like a fever broke from that point of contact, splashing out through his limbs to wash away the agony and confusion. He sucked in a deep breath of neutral air, the drone of malice gone.

Faintly, the sound of cracking stone drifted to them. It wasn't far away enough.

His mistress held Aurora's hand, and the girl was blinking a little, her face the colour of curdled milk. "Everyone out." Maleficent's voice was calm, but it contained a resonance which propelled Diaval to his feet and set him moving towards the door. He heard the telltale sigh of Prince Phillip falling under Maleficent's spell, and briefly considered going back to assist in towing the boy along.

'_But she said to leave_,' Diaval reminded himself, throwing open the doors briskly and moving with great purpose down the hall. His feet seemed to know where to go and they carried him just past one of the grand staircases to a tightly spiraled servant's exit. His fear was still there, a great foaming terror which threatened to seize and obliterate the man, the raven he was. But Maleficent's command lidded the dread as a coating of ice on the sea of a distant planet, and Diaval found himself curiously detached from the situation as he lead them down the hall.

He rushed down stairs as easily as splashing though a Moor brook, though he could not see two inches behind his face. The stones around him screeched again, and a terrible cry sliced through the air and turned his skin to a shivering horror – he was driven forward by Maleficent's magic, and the golden light of his mistress lead his feet. A tiny jetstream of sparks chased just beyond his toes and his ears were full of sound even when his eyes remained blinded – Aurora's panting breath, the sweep of Phillip's clothes against the wall, the faint rending sounds he heard with his soul.

Diaval emerged onto what his instincts told him was the first floor, and a tugging at the base of his spine made him pause. A second later Aurora poured forth from the shadowed doorway, Maleficent and bobbing Prince Phillip regurgitated a moment after. He waited peacefully, all the serenity in the world evident on his face until Maleficent's hand flickered again and he was released from her spell.

An essence of tranquillity remained but he was back to himself. "A simple 'go down the stairs, Diaval' would have sufficed, mistress," he said shakily, trying and failing to summon an iota of bravado.

Maleficent opened her mouth to respond, to lash back with her own vinegar tongue, but no sound came out. To Diaval's horror, she _blanched_.

"Run!" Maleficent blurred forward and her hand hit his lower back, half shoving him down the hallway as she dragged Prince Phillip behind them. Stone ripped and screamed again, this time only a few meters down the hall – the sound was worse _so much worse_ this time; it turned the air solid with agony. Snatching a glance over his shoulder as he tore after his mistress, Diaval was sure this time he saw pale talons slit through century's old granite, easily the size of scythes and with much deadlier intent.

Once again the flight was on, but this time Maleficent directed him with her hand rather than her magical intent, and Diaval plunged through the doorway without a moment's hesitation.

They were in another servant's stairwell, and it was a miracle that they hadn't encountered any of the staff as they barrelled along, and now it was just a few tense flights of stairs down the tight spiral of the tower.

It was too tight. Diaval's shoulders brushed the walls as the turns seemed to wind tighter and tighter, and above he could hear stones thundering after them frantically, fleeing the wrath of the creature that tore them from their mooring.

Tiny hands wrap around his arm – without looking he drew Aurora closer, half dragging her along. He was no longer truly running or in control of his legs, it was more a staggered fall, his feet clumsily hitting the stairs and sliding out from underneath him, flailing madly until they hit the next step three, four, five down.

Then they were through another door, thrusting from this one more frantically than the last. Maleficent careened through after him, her wings scrabbling at the walls for purchase. Not a moment too soon – a tumble of stones the size of Diaval's torso clambered after them, sending a spray of fine grey dust over their clothes as they settled, sighing creakily with satisfaction at their blocked path. Maleficent paid it no need – she brushed past them down this new hallway.

They had reached the servant's quarters on the lower levels and now they saw the inhabitants – chalk-faced and slackjawed, they gathered at the skinny windows and stared out unheeding of their Queen's calls. They would not be roused by any touch or cry, and eventually Diaval had to gently drag the fledgling away – Maleficent watched from a cold distance.

She did not cease her summons, her pleas to her people, but still they paid her no heed. They were transfixed by whatever they saw, untouched as they were by Maleficent's protection.

It was perhaps luck which got them this far. They had fled through the laundry, through the kitchen with no incident. Whatever attacked the castle had remained in the upper areas.

And perhaps Diaval should have been suspicious when the sound of devastation died away for several minutes. He had been human too long – his birdshape, always lurking beneath his skin and chirruping it's opinion, was too faint for him to register it's warning.

It was the windows, strangely, which saved his skin. They were passing through the greenhouse when Maleficent stopped again, her hand resting on Aurora's shoulder. The glass was thickly fogged here, the ice forming a crust across its surface – moonlight turned it luminescent and glossed the plants a pretty silver-green.

He was bringing up the rearguard, wearily prodding along Prince Phillip while trying to keep an eye on Aurora and his mistress. It was difficult in the half light, and more than once he had to untangle a royal limb from a trellis, taking his eyes from his two charges for a few precious seconds. Prince Phillip would likely wake up with more than his fair share of scratches and bruises at this –

A shadow fell and snuffed out the moon.

Horror ignited under Diaval's heart. "Mistress – "

The ceiling blew out, the glass whorled away in an instant by a great vacuum but it was nothing compared to the _scream_ which followed; it shattered through them all, and though they cried out against it their voices were whisked away. Pale bronze light poured in slowly, sludge-like and lazy compared to the knife wind, and where it touched the plants they shuddered and died.

Through blurry, brimming eyes Diaval saw his mistress standing with her arms outstretched, as though welcoming the beast, accepting the colossal claws reaching for her.

For a few mad seconds, Diaval forgot the prince, forgot Aurora and moved deliriously towards Maleficent, intent on joining her for their last moments before being spirited away by the Great Animal. '_I always thought we'd go together…_'

The scream ceased, but its spirit didn't. It would linger in those stones for many years, and nothing sweet or kind would grow there again. Though Diaval reached her side after a few torturously slow seconds – the prince bumping along beside him by sheer luck – he may as well have been a gnat for all the attention she gave him.

Maleficent's eyes were pure gold, no pupil, no iris. And even though he softly called her name she did not look at him. Diaval dared to look up at the torn ceiling, certain his soul would be shredded for even a glance – the stars had fled and all that remained above them was a great blackness, shot with burnished orange. The darkness rippled, clanged - the sound turned his knees to sand. The shifting skyscape pulsed, two claws griped either side of the jagged, ice-sharp hole above them – surprisingly delicate in movement, the glass gasped and cracked but did not yet shatter.

Diaval knew when The Great Animal moved by the shifting of its feeble light – it flowed down, liquid and powerful, until two eyes like smiling death pressed their gaze upon them.

"Foolish," Maleficent whispered – the words were tiny but strong, and they made the eyes hesitate. Maleficent reared back, her arms winding up and fingers curving into a mockery of talons.

What she threw at The Great Animal could not be describe as her usual semi-opaque wave of golden magic. It was near transparent, but as fire when it burns truly hot. The force of it was enough to make The Great Animal reared back, roaring in protest and shock – but not pain. Diaval didn't even flinch as the aftershocks whistled past him, felt it probe him gently for injury or malady before continuing past.

Maleficent forced it out for several seconds longer, pulsing brighter and brighter – the plants closest to them stirred and began to rise, a graze on Aurora's cheek faded away to pink skin, and Maleficent…laughed.

The light mostly went out, apart from a thin ribbon peacefully stretching to a golden barrier of fluttering, dusty butterflies – thousands guarding the breach.

Their individual wings made a sound like the spirit of silver bells chiming amidst young apple blossoms and the echo became part of the shield, melding to form a great cathedral toll. At the tip of the strand more formed to join their fellows, thickening and strengthening the screen until the Great Animal was almost obscured by their light.

Obscured, not illuminated.

The Great Animal didn't seem upset, or even injured from the initial blast; a claw longer than Diaval was tall tapped curiously at the magically formed insects, causing them to band and fluttering madly – but not break.

Her eyes met his – he nearly fell to his knees. "Run, Diaval. Take Aurora. Take Phillip."

_No_. "Yes, mistress," he answered shakily, his hand wrapping around Aurora's upper arm, fingers entangled in Phillip's hair to stop him drifting too far. As he slid past her, past the faerie that was almost lost in a cloud of her own magical fallout, she smiled. A genuine, slightly wistful smile.

"I'll be right behind you," she promised – he believed her.

* * *

"Turn left, then right down this hall, go down the steps and this is the root cellars, the root cellars – " Diaval ignored everything but Aurora's trembling voice, focused on how fast he could put one foot in front of the other and not how he was going to push Phillip into the first available lake for bringing that beast to the kingdom " - Ignore the doors but go straight ahead, dead straight, these steps lead through the servant's kitchen where the scullery girls pitch in after the highfolk bed down, around the corner and up these steps, one two twenty before you know it slow it down or you'll crash into the wall, I found that out the hard way, we're almost at the stalls – "

They were outside now, clattering down the stony steps to where the hunting horses were kept, Phillip still peacefully drifting behind them. From where the kitchen door expelled them it was only two hundred feet to the stables, but the walkway was covered only by a half-rotted thatch. The stables, thick and stony and safe, seemed very far away by comparison. A warm glow shone from the windows and Diaval could almost _smell_ the sweet dry hay, hear the horses grunting and whickering softly as they bunked down for the night - oblivious dumb animals…

"Ugh! One of the stableboys must have dropped a bucket of – nevermind. It's close -"

Diaval gripped Phillip by the collar of his jacket and grabbed Aurora by the wrist with his free hand, determinedly dragging them both down the path. "We need to go. Mistress needs us to be inside."

"How – How do you know?" Aurora asked falteringly, craning her head to gaze back at the jagged silhouette of her castle.

"I just do." The feeling surged again, urgency and determination singing across his nerves and before he knew it Diaval was almost flying down the path; Aurora's feet were scarcely allowed to touch the steps and she managed a hopping, tip-toed run.

"Diaval, I can't see behind us anymore, it's shadows, all shadows – "

"Run, Aurora!"

"Diaval, I can see a face now – _mercy_…"

"_Run, Aurora_!" This time his cry was swelled by a familiar, commanding voice and Diaval's heart swelled so much he was certain his feet didn't touch the ground. A brown blur whirled six feet ahead of them and swerved back, the draft blowing ice into his eyes.

"Get inside!" Maleficent reared back, ten balls of light burning at the tips of her fingers. With a roar she flung her arms forward and they fired off, leaving blazing trails in the early morning darkness. Horrifically, it did not take long for them to hit their target – not twenty feet from where Maleficent hovered they exploded against a dark, solid mass, which lit up briefly and radiantly. A laugh rattled the earth, and with a lurch that left him dizzy Diaval realized the Great Animal was pouring _over _the ruins of the castle, flooding around the towers and oozing over the parapets. A clanging curtain – wing? – swept over a wall, followed by an eagerly grasping claw the size of a barn.

"Diaval, inside now! It won't follow us once we're off the grounds!" Diaval turned his attention back to dragging his two charges along the path, and Maleficent was behind them now, hurrying them along the last fifteen feet, ten feet, five and now they were through the door, though the small prep area with a fetid storm of air rushing behind them. Diaval wondered if the talons would kill him instantly or if he'd feel the shock of them in his back…

"Maleficent! Maleficent!" Up ahead, bobbing madly in the rapidly approaching doorway was a pretty golden-green light, twirling in a familiar fashion. "Hurry, hurry!" The ball of magic shot at them, behind them, as though fired from a sling. It slammed into the talons scratching madly at the floor just a meter behind, rebounding with a noise like a dropped sack of bells. "Hateful creature! Maleficent, take Aurora! I'll hold it off!"

But Maleficent's hand closed around Thistlewit and pulled her back, the pixie struggling and yelling the whole time as she was forcibly taken along with them. It mattered not – the Great Animal had lost interest in the doorway, and had taken flight, its wings booming and shattering the last of the windows.

For a moment they simply stood in a circle, Thistlewit still struggling but silent, thankfully. Diaval, his face grey and with a sheen of perspiration; pink-cheeked Aurora, gasping in sharp little breaths, her eyes wide with mingled disbelief and horror; Maleficent, marble white and just as tranquil, her bearing martial and ready. Lucky Phillip slept on, and a part of Diaval was hysterically amused they managed to hang onto him throughout the entire escape.

It was so quiet, so peaceful that if Diaval had woken up in the millenary tree, he would have shaken it off as nothing more than an ill dream. The departure of the Great Animal was a sudden, physical sensation, a lifting weight which hadn't been noticed until it was gone. Aurora audibly sighed with relief.

The spell was broken when Thistlewit finally managed to pry herself free.

"Quickly, quickly! I know how to get out! Hurry, hurry!" Thistlewit zoomed about them madly – her high-pitched voice was almost drowned out by her buzzing wings. "You were so hard to find! I almost lost you when the castle started coming down, but I thought 'they know where to go, I know where to go, clever Thistlewit will – "

"'_Clever Thistlewit'_? Might I remind _you_ that it was _me_ who got this smelly place unlocked – " Right on cue, a pink blur joined them from the rafters.

"I scared the horses away," Flittle volunteered, suddenly appearing on Prince Phillip's back. She crossed her legs comfortably and seemed quite happy to remain perched between his shoulderblades, even when his slow rotating tipped her upside down.

"I don't know why I ever expected you would stay in The Moors," Maleficent said a trifle wearily, though Aurora looked thrilled to see her 'aunts' again.

Thistlewit was almost vibrating with energy, her eyes bright pinpricks in the darkness. "I wanted to come with you. I thought you might need horses so I was going to sneak into one of your saddlebags!" That explained what she was doing in the stable.

"We, er, came to talk her out of it," Flittle chimed in sheepishly.

Diaval and Maleficent shared a look over Aurora's head. "Are you sure?" Diaval asked eventually, earning himself an abashed scowl from Knotgrass.

"She got a good head start on us, the slippery fiend!" Knotgrass grumbled. "She was halfway to the castle when we realized she'd slipped away with her food half-eaten– "

"You followed her to make sure she finished her dinner," Diaval stated flatly.

"– it was only part of the reason, Diaval!" Knotgrass cleared her throat. "Anyhow. Flittle and I almost lost her once that dreadful blackness fell."

Like an axe, silence fell over them. They had almost been able to forget what had brought them to the unnaturally silent stable, the creature which presumably still prowled the skies. Though by Maleficent's face, she'd been unable to put it aside.

"It was awful," Thistlewit said finally, her voice hushed. "I could hear babies crying and then…not crying. The crops are all soiled. I only got here so fast because – " she swallowed audibly. " – It seemed like that creature killed the wind. I never thought I'd feel sorry for a storm."

"Thistlewit," Maleficent said urgently. "Did you see the creature on the way over? Did you see its face?" But Thistlewit was shaking her head slowly.

"No, I'm sorry." She twirled uncomfortably. "I didn't even know it was there until it was on the palace. I hope no one was in those big towers. They got toppled right over." Aurora's face was ghoulishly pale, no doubt thinking of the various people who could have been in those rooms and corridors.

"Why did it stop chasing us?" the Queen finally asked, clenching her trembling jaw. "Did you drive it off?"

Maleficent's laughter was hollow. "No. That animal comes and goes as she pleases."

"She, Mistress?" Diaval felt like flinching from her gaze for the first time in several years.

"Yes. She. _She_ let us go." Prince Phillip brushed lightly against the peak of her wing, and her cut diamond stare razed across his face. "You are to take the little Prince. Take him to the Moors; Blossoms-Of-Spring is to nurse him back to health."

"Aurora – " Knotgrass began, and diminished under Maleficent's razor gaze.

"- _Stays with me_."

* * *

The sun rose on a ruined castle. The inhabitants slowly trickled out as the morning light hesitantly chased away the last ribbons of chuckling darkness. Serving girls, ambassadors, guardsmen and candlelads – they came out in groups, none daring to go alone.

Captain John would eventually rally a contingent of guardsmen to search for the Queen, though this wouldn't last long. With the solemn arrival of the dryads, Balthazar in the lead with a message for the Captain, the Moorfolk set about pulling survivors and corpses from the wreckage. By chilly noon, their roots crunching in the frost, they had managed to salvage the southern wing of the castle, enough so some normal semblance of life could resume.

Balthazar delivered the missive from Queen Aurora as soon as Captain John was located.

The Captain was far from pleased, but there was nothing for it.

Maleficent had left for Ulstead before dawn had crept out, Diaval, Aurora and a very excited Thistlewit in tow.

* * *

Diaval ran hard and fast, his hooves hardly touching the ground thanks to a dose of Maleficent's magic. Aurora clung to his feathered mane and wept silent, and his heart ached for his little Queen. She was too young, too new to her duties to be saddled with such danger.

Eventually her sobs quieted, and she slept, much to Diaval's boundless relief.

Maleficent flew a tight circuit around them, all her senses straining to detect even the first whisper of danger. They were making excellent time, all things considered – it normally took at least two days of good riding to reach the border and they had made it about a quarter of the way by midday.

Closer to Ulstead, the summer was losing. The snow piled up in mounds and scummed over ponds with wrinkled ice. Lukewarm slush turned much of the road to mud, and if it weren't for Maleficent's magic Diaval would have broken a leg long before.

They were drawing near the small forest that bled over the Ulstead border. It was a clear, wide road running through, and the healthy trees which fringed the road were putting up a valiant fight against the leaf-withering cold. Maleficent would fly higher when they entered to get a better look around while Diaval guided Aurora and Thistlewit through the trees, a notion which made him feel extremely vulnerable.

She dipped in close now, and even in his horseshape he could admire her aerial grace. "Diaval. South, by the lake."

Diaval slowed and obediently looked, craning his head so the unfamiliar eyes could get the best view. For a moment there was nothing, just sheep sheltering against the snowflakes settling in their coats –

A splinter of white flashed out of a bush and rushed ahead, disappearing into the looming trees.

Maleficent smiled humourlessly. "We have an escort, it seems. As if this day couldn't get stranger."


	4. Old Magic

So, yeah, this happened. Somehow. I've had the guts of it on file for about seven months and have only just managed to finish it now. It frustrates me because I have a lot planned for this fic but the chapters come verrrrryyyy ssssslllooowwwwwly. It'll probably be finished by the time Maleficent XI: Revenge of the Brownies is released in cinemas.

Unbeta'd as per usual.

* * *

They rode for most of the day, taking breaks only when Diaval physically couldn't put one foot in front of the other. Aurora dozed on and off, slumped peacefully against his back. Thistlewit was nestled a little higher up between his ears, her drowsy mumblings a source of great hilarity and relief on the journey.

They closed in on the border quickly. The presence of The Great Animal had brought summer and winter's conflict to a temporary standstill, and the first half of their day it was a pleasant, almost scenic ride.

Afternoon however, brought the winds again.

Diaval supposed it was because they drew nearer to the high, dense wall of cloud which piled up ever thicker against their kingdom's border. It was not the official border between the two countries, but a boundary delineated many centuries previously by creatures not bound by man's struggles and desires. It stretched to the clear blue heavens until it met the untamable gales which existed that high. Ferocious winds sheared the top off the wall and whisked it in long banner streams over their heads, churning the cloud until it dropped as snow.

He tried not to focus on it, preferring to stare at the ground or fix his gaze on a distant tree. The wall's impenetrable smoothness was unnatural.

Occasionally he would catch glimpses of other Moorfolk protectively prowling alongside their convoy. The road ahead of them was always tamped flat by thousands of tiny handprints; once, when he crested a hill and looked down over a gleaming white landscape, he saw a swarm of sprites miles down the road, working feverishly to make the roads passable.

"It's not just for us," Maleficent explained when he mentioned it to her. He saw what she meant a short while later; huddled groups of humans determinedly driving their livestock down the road, their most precious possessions strapped to their backs or piled high on carts.

All heading to the castle.

They would have to detour around them, pick their way through frosty fields, round blackened crops or irritable sheep. Diaval privately added 'sheep' to the list of animals he did not want as part of his morphing arsenal.

Even with the help of the Moorfolk, they probably would not have crossed into Ulstead without Maleficent's magic pushing them forward. Diaval fretted over this. She was impatient, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. But getting them there required a lot of complex, ongoing magic. Redirecting the wind, parting snow, increasing Diaval's stamina, suffusing her own wings with raw magic to drive her onwards. Not to mentioning her ongoing, silent communication with the Moorfolk. And that was just what Diaval could guess; who knew what else Maleficent had running on the side?

He was proud of her, to be a part of her retinue. No one else in the Moorland could have lasted as long as his mistress.

The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time they disappeared into the cloud. Diaval half-expected them to be met with resistance, to fight through haze as thick as wet clay. Part of him hoped they would – then they could turn back, retreat to the ruined castle and work out a new plan there. Safe, with his fledgling guarded by Moorfolk and Maleficent not flying headlong into danger. _Again_.

But they were permitted passage, into a world eddying with shades of crushed pearl, accented pale blue, delicate gray and the occasional wink of clear, pure snow white. It reminded Diaval of when Fauve, before she ceased communication, had bragged to Maleficent of her travels to an arid red continent halfway around the world. Maleficent was fascinated by the sorceress' story of tiny, hopping mice, and had attempted to recreate it on Diaval.

She had chosen to perform her experiment at the peak of winter, and Diaval had dropped into eight inches of freezing snow. His world had been white, muffled and narrowed down to what little he could see beyond his own nose.

And Maleficent's laughter. She had tracked him only by his long feathery tail poking up out of the snow like a gloomy blade of grass.

When she plucked him, squeaking angrily, from the ground he was treated to the then-rare sight of her smiling genuinely. She had swept ice from his downy fur with long, warm fingers and told him he made an endearing mouse.

Even then she had made his heart, his little animal heart, thunder hard in his chest.

Diaval stopped his train of thought there. Recently, it never lead anywhere productive and left him tingling and frustrated in a way he could not clearly define as a man or a raven.

They plodded along the misty road for what felt like hours, even the hardy dirt beneath his feet frozen to glittering silvery pebbles. The road stretched out before him, a long silk ribbon meandering through swirling fog. He was focusing so hard on the road ahead he didn't even notice when they cleared the barrier and emerged into Ulstead.

He was alerted to their arrival by Aurora's gasp, and the road beneath him lighting up with frosty fire.

It was moonrise now, Her Ladyship high over the treeline and so close Diaval was certain he could shift to ravenshape and soar up to meet her. Realization struck him, all at once, that the pearl shades in the mist were her, the moonlady, reaching in and following their footsteps. He had never felt so watched over, so protected by the moonlady until now – if she had been womanshape, Diaval was sure she would be smiling.

"I've – I've never seen the moon so huge," Aurora murmured into his ear, pulling herself up so she was nestled in his warm mane. "It's lovely. I never really noticed before."

She stared silently for a few moments, her eyes wide, and the moon in miniature swimming in each pupil. "Godmother says the moon is a lady. Or people think she's a lady, or if she were _anything_ she would _be_ a lady, or - it's like…she's looking right at us."

'_The moon watches over magical creatures, little one,'_ thought Diaval reverentially. _'Good and bad; seelie and unseelie; peaceful and warmongering.'_

"I wish she could talk," his fledgling said suddenly. "She would see all sorts of things up there. I bet she'd have amazing stories."

Diaval whickered a laugh.

Aurora giggled and tried to prod him into sharing the joke, but Diaval fell silent. He was watching Maleficent circle above them, her spindly hands flickering instructions.

Diaval obediently walked another quarter of a mile until he came to a gate half-frozen open. A few solid kicks loosened the ice enough for Diaval to push through. A road meandered upwards, through frosted trees glittering as though perfectly carved from crystal. Diaval lingered, guiltily, just a little, staring up at the stars wheeling overhead. Though they weren't that far from the Moorland, they still looked different.

They rounded the last bend. Atop the hill, an icy farmhouse crouched sullenly before them, its windows dark and eaves dripping with icicles. Its front door was wedged open and a broom lay discarded by the steps.

He felt Aurora shiver nervously.

Wings beating made him shift hopefully – Maleficent was by his side a second later, her hand pressed against his long, black neck. Her thin hand was a point of delicious warmth for him and it made his hindlegs tremble weakly.

She was speaking now, her voice low. "We will stay here for the night. I have some business I need to attend to before we go further."

Diaval bowed his head. Aurora slipped off his back and, with a flicker of Maleficent's fingers, Diaval was back to wobbling about in a tricky human form. Thistlewit transitioned easily, draped bonelessly over his head.

The pixie stirred. "You'll be sorry once the owls get back, they'll see what you did to all their vases," she called sleepily, then dropped back into her slumber.

Maleficent glared, but Diaval could see her red lips curving upwards slightly regardless. She met his eyes briefly, and his pale cheeks flushed.

His mistress swept ahead of them, and when Diaval made to follow she waved him off distractedly. "I will go first." She glided up the path, a dark silhouette against the glittering empty landscape.

Maleficent was swallowed up by the gaping doorway; Diaval and Aurora shared a look.

A spot between Diaval's shoulders prickled uncomfortably – he tried to suck in a calming breath.

Aurora shifted from foot to foot.

A bird cawed in the distance, too far away for even Diaval's expert ear to identify. They all had an element of sameness anyway when he was in manshape.

Aurora pressed close to him, her cold little hands grasping one of his.

When Maleficent returned they both couldn't have been more relieved. Diaval was about to greet her when he saw how white she was, like water had been added to her already milky complexion.

"Stay down in the kitchen tonight," she said crisply. She turned back towards the house.

"We won't use the upper rooms?" Diaval called. "There must be bedrooms."

Her shoulders tightened. "Yes. They are occupied."

"The family is still here?" Aurora's brow was furrowed; Diaval all at once understood.

"…In a sense. They are not to be disturbed now."

Aurora was very silent as they crept into the house, remained that way as they cleared a space in the chilly kitchen and Diaval tried to build a fire in the long dead hearth.

Eventually Maleficent's impatience got the best of her and she simply waved a fire into existence. It flared gold for a few seconds before settling down to a happy yellow crackle, bathing them all in warmth.

Diaval frowned. He had been at a near full gallop for most of the day, but even so he expected a sudden temperature change to be more painful than it was. His skin shivered and prickled, but nothing else. No burning agony as his sluggish blood moved into his extremities.

Maleficent avoided his gaze.

Yawning, Thistlewit slipped down from her lazy perch. She floated closer to the fire, shaking out her downy hair. "Did we make it?" asked the pixie, hugging herself tight with her thin little arms. "What do we do now?" At some point she had acquired a puffy coat - it looked as though it were made of thatched dandelion seeds.

Rubbing her temples, Maleficent seated herself by the fire. Her mouth and eyes were taut with exhaustion, fine cracks in her otherwise porcelain skin. "I must contact Fauve before we go further – she most likely has an idea of who and what we're dealing with."

"She's a scholar?" Aurora didn't look thrilled at the prospect.

"No - she's a terrible gossip." His mistress huffed sharply. "But she is the most tolerable of those I can contact and less likely to demand a blood price for information."

Diaval and Aurora shared another uneasy look.

Their beloved faerie didn't speak again for a long time – not to them. She paced the wide of the tiny kitchen, muttering in a musical tongue and occasionally flicking her long fingers. Sparks skittered along her nails, chittering like merry birds before zipping off to parts unknown. Occasionally one would arrow back into the room and sink into her skin; Maleficent would pause, her head tilted as though listening intently.

Her travel companions, first fascinated and then bored, loitered listlessly about the room. Thistlewit vanished on some mysterious errand, leaving the two on their own.

With nothing better to do, Diaval began to search for their supper - he managed to dig up a cold loaf of bread and what looked to be soft cheese under a fine icy film. While they warmed to an edible temperature, there remained only what to drink.

Usually he would seek out water from one of the untainted Moor streams, but human water was different. They seemed in capable of separating their waste from their drinking water, and were forever situating the midden too close to their well.

He found some small beer, bristling with crystals. It would have to do for now. Diaval sighed and placed it next to the fire. It would be sour but hopefully drinkable.

With little else to do, he settled next to Aurora at the kitchen table. She was sorting through a bundle of damp herbs, separating each into neat little piles. She was deep in concentration, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth – some of Diaval's exhaustion melted away.

"What have you go there, Aurora?" Diaval asked, playfully tugging one of her braids. She smiled and shook her head until she smacked him with a lock.

"I found these in the cupboard," she beamed. "They've dried beautifully but they're just a little damp. I thought I could make Godmother some tea while she's speaking with her friend."

A grin cracked his face – he couldn't have stopped it even if he wanted to. "You're a thinker, Aurora – and look." His fingers tapped a bundle of crumbly dark green leaves. "You have some mint here. Mistress will adore that."

Aurora sat up a little straighter and resumed sorting her herbs with added enthusiasm. Diaval helped as much as he could, but he let Aurora carry most of the conversation. To his surprise, Thistlewit rejoined them a short time later, dragging along a basket containing six large brown eggs.

It was almost cozy. Sitting by a roaring fire, teaching a rapt Aurora about the different herbs, Thistlewit furtively eating chamomile petals. He could almost forget why they were there, what was upstairs, where they needed to be and –

Maleficent threw herself down next to him and _glared_ at the table.

They fell silent. No one dared to move.

After a minute or so, Diaval finally dared to ask, "Are you well, Mistress?"

"Yes." Maleficent didn't budge. "After a very frustrating search for her next message, Fauve has finally insinuated I will find all my answers here. At the table. Honestly, if that sly little – "

Aurora squealed – Diaval almost hit the ceiling in fright. Maleficent reared back, hand raised and buzzing gold.

Wide eyed and slack jawed, Aurora could only point in front of her. Right in the middle of her herb pile, the wood was buckling almost imperceptibly.

Maleficent dropped back into her seat, unable to make out any sound except a stuttering squeak.

The wood crackled, and a tiny green shoot poked out. It rose steadily from dead wood, its colour almost garishly bright. A miniscule leaf unfurled from its slender stem. Then another, and another, all the while growing up and out until the shoot was twenty centimeters high. It stopped, bobbing gently. The very top of the shoot began to swell rapidly, darkening to gorgeous green bulb, which burst open in a spray of sweet scent. As one, they all inhaled deeply. Along with the budding flower's natural scent was a rich, heady tang of magic.

In seconds, the flower had perfected itself. A pretty, bright marigold, so full of colour and warmth it outshone the hearthfire.

Aurora recovered first. "What an unusual colour for a flower," Aurora murmured, inching closer to it. Maleficent appeared to be frozen to the spot, her eyes gleaming, transfixed by the flower. It was unusual, now Diaval had a chance to properly look. Still the fiery colours of a marigold, but every petal was latticed elegantly, and veined with fine gold scripture. He tried to read it, but the script seemed to wriggle and slither. An ache started in his eyeballs, forcing him to look away.

A few flakes of frost began to settle on its fine petals, and they instantly flashed to steam. The steam seemed to send a chime of noise into the air, like someone whispering from the next room.

"Fauve, you clever thing," Maleficent breathed, striding over to the flower. Her fingers flickered over it, weaving a pattern, and the flower looked as though it were nodding in delight.

"Mistress…" said Diaval softly, coming up to stand at his customary place by her shoulder.

"I…" Maleficent glanced at the single, perfect flower still patiently posed on the table. "I need fresh water. Very fresh."

"We can get it, Godmother," Aurora chirped, smiling. "It's not far and we can see if there's anything else out here for us to eat with dinner." Unlikely, but her enthusiasm was welcome.

His mistress stared long and hard at Aurora, her lower lip caught up between her teeth. He could almost see the wheels turning, weighing up the danger to their queen. "There…is a well, just past the vegetable garden," Maleficent said finally. "See what you can find there."

Aurora cheered and ran to grab her coat. Diaval followed her without prompting – as he passed by his Mistress she leaned in close, her breath stirring against his ear. "Thank you. Keep her safe, please."

His words knotted in his throat, Diaval could only nodded jerkily and lurched after Aurora. She was already fluttering out the front door.

* * *

Outside, the cold hit them hard; Aurora's chattering teeth could probably be heard back in the Moors. His own skin crawled and goosebumped, and he briefly wished for a fuzzier form. Perhaps a bear? He hadn't been a bear yet. It would be warmer than a human, and he would be extra efficient at keep Aurora safe.

Too late for that now. Diaval tried to think warm thoughts and motioned Aurora to follow him. Just a short walk around the right side of the house and they came to an ice-heavy fence, easily hopped over. Before them a neatly set out kitchen garden was nearly lost under snow – beyond that cowered a frosty chicken coop near the dark outline of the well. Ten yards beyond that was the treeline, branches not quite obscuring the glittering expanse of a lake.

A twinge of unease tugged at Diaval's heart. The lake was bad. Stay away from the lake.

Aurora seemed to be fine, however and was charging ahead. They staggered through the frozen vegetables, Aurora hopefully scraping away a layer of ice from each.

"Some of them might be good," she said uncertainly. Diaval was not inclined to agree. They were frost-blackened and shriveled.

As they passed the chicken coop, Diaval was surprised by the warmth radiating from it. He rested a hand to the side and peered in through a crack – sleepy eyes peeped back, blinking with dumb animal curiosity. Magic tickled his palm – familiar magic.

"Thistlewit must have given them a haven in exchange for the eggs," he murmured to Aurora. She looked quite delighted, and hurried to look at the birds. A few teeny cheeps squeezed out, and she nearly burst in excitement.

"Little babies! How lovely!" She wiggled her fingers at the hutch. "I didn't know Thistlewit could do that."

Diaval gently chivvied her along, and she parted reluctantly from the hens. "Basic eye for an eye magic. Like using a basket to carry eggs instead of just your hands. Faster, easier, tidier."

Aurora giggled. "I remember Godmother teaching us that. You must pay very close attention."

A few snowflakes sizzled on Diaval's red cheeks. Thankfully, they had the well the tackle now.

The well was a struggle to open – it took a lot of heaving and huffing for both of them, and in the end the lid parted from the well with a resounding 'crack!' They dropped it, panting, and peered inside. No rushing water, no dripping, not even a gust of wind.

Aurora dropped a stone down the well. They listened for what seemed like an age before a hard smack echoed up from the depths.

"Probably frozen solid," she said glumly. Diaval sighed, his breath misting thickly. His Mistress needed that water. She had looked so – so _enchanted_ when Fauve's flower had bloomed. He didn't want to be the one to bring back nothing…

Aurora was at the treeline before he realized she had even departed. He slipped and skidded his way to her as quickly as possible, but couldn't stop her hopping over the perimeter gate. "Aurora! What are you doing?"

She pointed eagerly to a path Diaval had not noticed. It was tiny, a mere rabbit's trail through the trees, but it was certainly heading down the hill. "That leads to the lake, I'm sure of it!"

"How do you know?" It looked unsafe. Slippery. Dark. He was reminded again of the feeling he got from the lake, an inkling tugging at the primal part of his soul. Diaval shivered – it had nothing to do with the temperature.

"I just do!" Aurora looked at him pleadingly. "Please? It'll only take a minute, I promise, and if there's anything dangerous we'll come straight back up."

"Aurora I…I'm not sure…"

But Aurora had one more card to play. "In and out, I promise! Godmother will be so happy…"

Diaval struggled for a few more seconds, but he had already lost. His Mistress needed the water, part of him rationalized. Aurora would be safe. He would keep her safe, even if it cost him his last breath, his wings, his freedom…

The journey to the lake was easy. A fifteen minute walk through still trees, their footsteps crunching loudly. Diaval was so alert it almost ached, jumping at every twig broken underfoot. Aurora marched ahead confidently, the wellbucket swinging from her hands.

Eventually, they stepped from the trees into a surprisingly neat little clearing. The edge of the lake was lined with crystallized willow trees, their fronds dipping into perfectly preserved waves lapping at the shore. A stubby dock jutted out into the lake, mooring a single dinghy.

The water looked depressingly solid, but they picked their way down anyway. The observation Diaval had felt at the house was ten times worse, his heart skipping a beat every now and then. Aurora was in the lead now, parting the heavy strands of the nearest willow.

Diaval followed her closely, carefully watching their pathway back to the house. Anything could be out here. At night, under a moon like this, with most of the humans dead or hiding? He knew what terrible things lurked, just waiting for a chance to slither out – some of them he knew by name and saw daily.

Some he knew only by smell. Or sound. Or by how quickly the other folk fled from their presence.

Could be anything out here. A frost troll. One of the Cucui was unlikely but he still didn't want to meet one. An each-uisge was more likely, and he sincerely hoped it was not one of them. They would be dead before Maleficent could hear their screams. A Shining One was the worst possibility he could think of – by the time Maleficent heard their screams they would _wish_ they were dead…

Aurora moved towards him suddenly, trying to shout a whisper. "Diaval! On the lake!" She dragged him to the edge of the frost curtain.

His flesh quivered as the ice-crusted fronds brushed his skin, frost sticking briefly before melting to lukewarm droplets running down his palm. He peered out curiously at the lake – the figure on the frozen lake was slim and took delicate, mincing steps, and thus far didn't seem to notice them huddled away. A swift, graceful turn revealed two things – the figure was woman-shaped, and she was dancing.

Without uttering a word, he pushed Aurora deeper into the shadows. The woman didn't dance like the water sprites of The Moors, worshipping the moonlight and dancing for the sheer joy of it. She danced like someone on display, pretty and measured and all the while –

Watchful. She knew they were there.

Diaval glanced back at Aurora, who was watching him with wide, questioning eyes. He swallowed past a knot in his throat. "We should head back," he suggested hoarsely. "I don't think we'll have any luck out here." Aurora's eyes flickered back over his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" she asked uncertainly. "I promise I won't go out on the ice, just to the edge." Rattling the empty bucket hopefully, Aurora made to stand up.

"No!" The bucket slipped from her fingers. Diaval raised his hands placatingly, wishing he could take back some of the harshness that had splattered surprise across her face. "I – there's someone out there. Best not to let them know we're here."

Brow furrowed, Aurora pointed hesitantly. "Um…There isn't. There's no one there."

His heart lurched, like a shard of the unnatural ice had suddenly lodged in through his spine. Diaval whirled, his feet skidding deep furrows into frost and his gaze combing the landscape.

The lake was empty, and peaceful.

His bird instincts started screaming. The ones responsible for telling him when a feline drew near or a farmer raised his club. A newcomer's presence filled his senses, he could feel them as acutely as he would if they were pressed close against his back. A knife-tipped breeze shook the moon from behind the last ragged cloud and turned the willow tree to long chandeliers, their whips dripping with perfect white diamonds. It bled colour from the world and deepened the shadows.

An odd shape caught his questing gaze. This willow was old, craggy and half-curled in on itself, hunched like a mad woman in the throes of a fit. Filtered moonlight sank into its crags, made odd shapes play out, but there, just curling around the apex, was a shadow that looked like a hand –

Shadow fingers twitched, and curled. Behind it another shadow moved and deepened, curling around until a solitary, dark eye blinked at them from the depths of darkness. It was black, dusky like oil, with unnatural colours skimming across its surface.

Aurora pressed close to him, tucking herself under his arm. "Who-who's there?" she called tentatively.

The eye blinked. "Who's there yourself?" it responded, and it was strange. Female, definitely, yet resonant and earthy in a way Diaval hadn't heard from a woman before.

Diaval did not answer, shifting so Aurora was perfectly hidden behind his lithe frame.

The eye narrowed, its colours narrowing down to a thin band of eerie light. "Surely the cold hasn't soaked down to your manners, then?"

"We didn't mean to offend you," Aurora piped up from behind him. The shadow shifted, and to Diaval's relief the woman had the standard two eyes, paired together. She stepped closer, until her bare toes met the edge of the shadows. The bouncing moonlight was enough to reveal her features – full cheeks, a tiny pointed chin, peculiar eyes a little too wide-set. She stood strangely; self-possessed, but with her chin angled down so she peered out at them through thick, dark bangs.

A small, secretive smile played about her mouth, like she was enjoying an enormous joke. "No offence taken, lady," she cooed, dropping into a small, mocking curtsey. Typically, Aurora took it at face value, and emerged from her hiding place, all smiles. "I was at fault first – fancy lurking in the shadows!" She laughed falsely. "I took fright, seeing strangers in these parts. I thought you brigands!"

Testing, prodding, coaxing. The scare tactic did not work so she was aiming for building trust. Aurora was not one to be coerced but a cautious maiden struck right through each of her defenses. She stepped up beside Diaval now; his fists flexed involuntarily when he saw how the woman drank in the sight of the queen.

"Not at all," exclaimed Aurora, spreading out her palms and laughing a little. "We have been lucky actually, travelled all day and not encountered a single bandit." Diaval winced, and the girl shot him a sly leer. The signs of life were everywhere; or at least, where they had been. The magical winter had come fast and hard, and those with no shelter nearby were little more than snow-bound lumps along their path.

The girl's grin widened, showing small, pearly teeth. "You're travelling? You must be very brave to be travelling in this weather. Where are you going?"

"Well, we…" Aurora glanced anxiously at Diaval, who tried to convey his reticence by gaze alone. "We…are hoping to see the royal family here. To offer our services."

"The royal family?" She was still smiling! Diaval began to hate that pleasant grin. "How kind of you, especially after the old king passed so suddenly." The girl's face clouded, a little crease of distress appearing on her brow. "It was..." She shuddered; Diaval didn't buy her suffering for a second.

But Aurora was taken in – she was never good at ignoring any display of trouble, and Diaval practically saw her heart go out to this stranger. "You poor thing," Aurora whispered gently, taking a step forward. The girl shifted uneasily, dancing briefly on the tips of her toes and tilting her head. "You saw it, then?"

"Indeed, miss," the girl murmured, her eyes wide and inky black. Diaval thought he saw something surface in them, something sinuous and watchful, and he fought back a shudder of his own. "The new king took over a little bit afterwards, I came out here as soon as I could…"

"Oh, but it's not safe out here!" Aurora burst out, hurrying forward and grasping the girl's hands. She looked surprised and more than a little panicked, but didn't pull away. The personal, pure magic of Aurora, Diaval supposed. "You should cross the border, enter my own kingdom – "

"You have a kingdom, miss?" The girl cocked her head again. "If you have a kingdom, who's this you're travelling with?" She leaned in a little, dark hair curtaining about her face. "Not a _bandit_, miss? You'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

Aurora laughed and craned her neck to smile at Diaval. Horrible, black certainty descended on Diaval at once. There was so much they hadn't told her, so much they should have instructed before they crossed into this frozen wasteland! Not in the least…_that_. Diaval opened his mouth to head her off, offer anything but what Aurora thought was free, what wasn't hers to give.

But he was a fraction too late.

"This is Diaval, he's…my godfather," Aurora said, beaming. Her whole attention was focused on the ravenman, so she missed what Diaval plainly saw take over the girl's face.

The girl's smile changed. Just a little. A tweak at one corner, a darkening to her brow. A few tiny twitches and her face was no longer that of a dopey peasant girl with a placating, nailed-on grin. Her cheeks hollowed with shadows, and her black eyes burned with sick, greasy fire.

"Di-a-val," she sounded out each syllable with relish, rolling them about her mouth before spitting them out.

Diaval felt _**It**_. The shroud, the netting, the trap fall about him. Her voice laid across his skin in a crackling, lightning filigree, sinking in and wrapping about his bones. The notes tightened, carved deep until they hit marrow and though it was but a whisper, it echoed through the cave of his body to chime against his soul.

"That's a pretty name," she said coyly, idly twisting a lock of her hair around one slender finger. "It means…mischievous, trickster, doesn't it? In the old tongue?" Diaval couldn't hide his cringe – her sonorous voice rattled through him and picked at the corners of his mind.

"Yes," he gritted out. The girl looked enormously pleased with the result.

Aurora faced the girl again, and it was like the wickedness Diaval had glimpsed simply fled. The girl smiled and tugged winsomely on her hair. "What's your name, then? You are so pretty, you must have an equally pretty name."

No.

Whoever this girl was, sprite or demon or sorceress, Diaval would not allow her ensnare Aurora the way she had him.

"Oh, I'm – "

"Briar Rose," Diaval interrupted in a rush. They both look at him – one surprised, the other suspicious. "She is known by Briar Rose."

Aurora looked as though she wanted to ask him why, why the deception, but she was a clever girl. She glanced nervously at the girl and carefully stepped back. When Aurora dropped her hands the girl's face momentarily crumpled, ugly and furious and hurt. But her sunny disposition was back in a trice.

"Briar Rose?" she said lightly. "Just as I thought, so pretty! Is that _really_ your name?"

She watched Aurora closely. Aurora looked her dead in the eye, and Diaval felt another spark of pride for his brave, trusting princess.

"Yes," she said, her smile faltering. "It is. My parents weren't around when I was younger, and Diaval gave me the name." No lies. That at least had stuck with Aurora. Diaval remembered that sleepy spring afternoon, lounging by a warm spring as Maleficent imparted disjointed, idle bits of advice to a half-dozing Aurora. Never lie to faefolk, as they can always tell. But misdirection, half-truths, riddles and cryptic words were employed by the fae themselves and therefore allowed the humans to operate on equal footing.

If her smile had been glassy and unconvincing before, it was not even passing Aurora's muster now. "How very kind of him. He did a lovely job." Her eyes cut into him. "Diaval, tell me where your name comes from. Tell me who gave you your name." He was helpless against her command.

"It comes from nothing," he blurted out, the words boiling up into his throat. He tried to press his lips together but the compulsion was too strong, like the urge to retch. He felt like being sick. "It was my name as soon as I was me."

Her smile was the most genuine he had seen so far – cruel delight sharpened her features into violent prettiness. "That must be wonderful, to have a true name –" a quick glance at Aurora, "– given so _freely_."

His glare was acidic, hateful, but she didn't deign to acknowledge it.

"What's your name?" Aurora ventured, and the girl's smile lost a bit of its dark humour.

"My name?" she seemed a little surprised. "What kind of name would I have?" Now it was her turn to flinch; the words had flown out thoughtlessly, a real question instead of the calculated enquiries.

"I suppose…one that you like, or describes you best?" suggested Aurora. "Or a nickname? Do you have a name?"

The girl seemed to really see Aurora for the first time. "I have lots," she said indignantly, petulantly folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes glinted strangely, a perfect circle of warm red surfacing in each iris for just a second. Diaval inched closer to Aurora just in case – she was dangerous, but not in the way he had initially thought.

"Lots…" she mused, staring at a point a few inches over Aurora's shoulder. "Pen. My name is Pen."

"Pen?" Aurora repeated. The girl nodded jerkily. "It's charming!" Her compliment was so genuine, so delighted it shocked the girl – Pen – back into the shadows.

Faintly, in the distance, bronze wings thundered.

Pen had withdrawn even further – the hint of red was gone, and her eyes were silky black once more. "You scurry back to your best hidey-hole," she cautioned, glancing up towards the hidden sky. "Worse things than bandits about."

"Where are you going?" Aurora asked anxiously; Pen grinned, a wide crescent in whirling shadow.

"Not far." It was an ill promise. "Until next time, Briar Rose." A glint at Diaval. He fought down the howl rising in his chest. "_Diaval_."

She was gone. Madly, stupidly, Diaval rushed after her. There was no trace of her, though he searched frantically.

All he found was the dropped bucket, sitting upright, filled with chunks of pale-blue ice.

* * *

Tada! I'm going to get some food. I have had a litre of coffee and a small tin of tuna today. And that sounds quirky and manic pixie but my intestines are hangry.

Hope you liked it, love to hear what you think.


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